“A fighter, heavily tattooed, rests on his right knee, his left hand held gingerly to his face as blood drips from his nose; he is squinting, breathing heavily, but composed. Inches from him a referee in a pink shirt coordinates waving his arms with shaking his head; his expression registering equal parts officialdom and compassion. A few feet away on the canvas a second fighter, too, is on his knees; his arms stretch toward the same open sky he has turned his face to; there is a calm about him, one that seems to distance him from the intimate exchange only a few feet away. An army of gaudily attired men spill between the ropes, some quickly, others urgently, but all drawn to the fighters like magnets of opposite charge.”

Read Malfunction: Viktor Postol KO10 Lucas Matthysse on The Cruelest Sport.

“Deontay Wilder stopped Johann Duhaupas in eleven rounds at the Legacy Arena in Birmingham, Alabama, on Saturday night, approximately seven rounds later than even generous expectations foresaw, and three rounds later than the fight’s meager offering of competitiveness dictated. Before lionizing Duhaupas for his toughness—which so grossly exceeds his craft as to render the latter moot—consider this: “Duhaupas is making his U.S. debut” was the biographical tidbit offered in the Rogers Cable Guide description of the fight. Make of Duhaupas what you will (to make of Wilder what you want) but when a cable guide, which is supposed to accurately reflect the content of a broadcast or embellish it in an intriguing way, can muster no better pitch for a fighter than his inaugural journey to the U.S., well, that probably means there is little to say.”

Read Night of the Reptile: Deontay WIlder TKO11 Johann Dupauhas on The Cruelest Sport.

“Chatter from the VIP tables was not about how Chris Van Heerden, for all his plucky insolence, at no point posed a threat to welterweight Errol Spence, or how Tommy Karpency was given the opportunity to face Adonis Stevenson in part because the crisp right hand he landed in the second round would be as close to victory as Karpency would ever come. If the PBC’s plan is to obfuscate what prizefighting should be about—two men of comparable ability paid to harrow each other in a spectacle of unmaking—and replace it with gatherings where violence is a backdrop to a social event, where the celebrity of the fighters supersedes their achievement and the pageantry of the proceedings is the primary criterion of its quality, Toronto warrants a return.”

Read “Cheap Celebrity: Adonis Stevenson Headlines Premier Boxing Champions in Toronto” on The Cruelest Sport.